


whatever the mess you are, you're mine

by sajee



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Career Ending Injuries, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Past Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5516525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sajee/pseuds/sajee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's a photographer (who used to play hockey), Bitty is semi-famous vlogger, Ransom and Holster really like podcasts about bourbon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. this is not a meetcute

Jack is on his way to the grocery store when he gets a call from Georgia.

 

“Zimmermann, I need you in my office as soon as possible. Preferably 20 minutes ago,” she snaps down the phone and then hangs up.

 

Jack looks at the phone in his hand, concerned. George didn't usually need to see him, just rang him and emailed him jobs and then they had non-work related coffee at least once a month when her schedule allowed it. It was out of character for her to summon him. But Jack had always been good at following through given the right motivation and George’s wrath at people not doing what she said was damn good motivation.

 

“So, we’re prepping for the next of end year, top ten bullshit for the supplement but the new management wants to put their own mark in it. They want you to shoot all of it. They like your eye.” George looks smug.

 

“How many are we talking? How long?”

 

George flicks through her notes. “10 subjects, print deadline is start of October, which gives you . . .”

 

“Four months?! That's a huge amount of lead time.”  Not that it's not welcome, it just makes it feel like there must be some catch.

 

George grins at him, looking more predatory than ever. “Tana says he needs it to be ‘special’, he wants to take the publication in a different direction, pseudo-high end, lots of cheekbones and non-sensical props.”

 

Jack sighs. It’s going to make more than people looking sad while sitting amongst a sea of teddy bears - ironically, apparently - to help reinvigorate what boils down to an advertising supplement.

 

George looks at him appraisingly. “Cover and a _very_ decent paycheck, Zimms.”

 

Jack sighs again and tries to look as put upon as possible. “I’m an artist, George. I’m not swayed by things like money.”

 

George raises her eyebrows at him. “We both know that’s not true. Now, go and take a some polaroids of minor Rhode Island personalities.”

 

“There is slightly more to it than that, Ms Martin.”

 

-

 

Jack was halfway through his third season, wearing the A for the Las Vegas Aces when everything was torn away from him. Jack could tell as he hit the ice that this wasn’t the sort of injury that it’d be easy to come back from.

 

In the end it wasn’t the struggle of trying to getting back to form after the surgery or the increase in his anxiety, it was the oxycodone. Well, that and Jack’s attempts to self-medicate through a cocktail of oxy, anxiety meds and liquor. It hadn’t gone well.

 

(When Jack has regained consciousness in the hospital, Parse was napping in the chair at the end of his bed. Jack isn’t proud of the fact that he pretended to sleep until Parse had to fly back to Alberta for his next game. At that point, Jack didn’t understand why anyone would fly for over 2 hours to just see that he was still alive.)

 

-

 

Jack finds himself at Shitty’s place looking over the _Gazette_ ’s brief and feeling dread begin to curl in his stomach.

 

“Ugh, ‘face of fall? That literally makes no sense. I hope you stick leaves all over this one’s face, that’d teach them for giving us such a stupid list.” Shitty wrinkles his nose at the piece of paper like it has personally offended him.

 

“Agreed. The titles are pretty shit but the job itself is good. And we get to work together for a change.”

 

Shitty holds his fist out. “Pound it, bro. God bless editors and their desire for ‘color’ in the writing.”

 

He and Shitty spend the rest of the day emailing and chatting with subjects, assistants and locations until they have a pretty clear schedule set out for the next two months that gives them ample time to do this job properly and still have a chance to do other, less naff work.

 

-

 

After rehab, Jack decided to purposely fail at something for the first time in his life. He worked hard to leave hockey behind while listening to what felt like thousands of people explaining to anyone why he both needed to go back and play and why he shouldn’t be trusted to stay clean. There was no possibility of staying in Vegas which didn’t bother Jack that much - it’s not like he chose to live there or had ever had anytime to actually know the place.

 

Photography and RISD felt as removed for the NHL as Jack could imagine.

 

-

 

Jack first meets Eric Bittle on a hot and humid day in July. His hair is curling over his forehead and his nose is covered with freckles. He is cheerfully pulling a pie out of the  sweltering oven when Jack and Shitty arrive.

 

“Hi, I’m the face of vlogging, apparently.” Bittle grimaces in distaste.

 

Jack is pretty certain he’s fucked from the get go.

 

-

 

Bittle - “Call me Eric, Jack, please! Or Bitty. I cannot deal with you calling me ‘Mr Bittle’, it makes me sound like I’m one hundred years old and play competitive shuffleboard.” - is charming and gregarious and makes great fucking pie and he and Shitty are practically best friends after twenty minutes. He doesn’t seem to mind that Jack has him move from one spot in his, ugh, utterly delightful and photogenic kitchen to another as he tries out composition and lighting and can actually follow direction unlike every other person they’ve profiled for this piece. Jack wants to hate him a little bit.

 

(“He’s wearing a bowtie,” Jack mutters to Shitty as Bitty goes into the other room to take a phone call.

 

Shitty squints at him. “Did you not do any prep for this job? It’s his thing - some sort of Southern Gentlemen vibe which, I’m hoping, is vaguely ironic.”)

 

It’s a testament to all three of them that Jack and Shitty are done within two hours and Eric waves them off with containers full of pie and cookies. Jack can feel the warmth rising in his cheeks as they say goodbye.

 

He lasts half a block before he turns to look at Shitty.

 

Shitty is grinning at him and eating a cookie. “Bro.”

 

Jack turns back around and marches off to his car. “Don’t even start, Shits.”

 

-

 

“Motherfucker! Bits!”

 

“Holy shit! Was that . . . ?!”

 

Eric gets to the top of the landing to find Adam and Justin losing their shit. They continue to rant as he holds his door open for them.

 

“Bits, why was my number one NHL crush and, let’s be honest, general life crush leaving your apartment?” Holster looks a bit like he wants to cry.

 

“Please tell me he signed or, in fact, even touched something.” Justin glances around, possessed. “This?” he asks holding up a water glass. “Or this?!” A spatula.

 

“Gentlemen, I have literally no idea what you are talking about.”

 

Ransom and Holster stare at each other wide-eyed. Twin filthy grins dawn.

 

“Oh my fucking god. Get it, Bits!”

 

They encompass him in the most epic hug Eric has ever been party to and manage to high five each other at the same time.

 

“Oh my, no! You two! Stop it.” Eric sidles out of the hug and cuts the two of them pie. “This was just that thing, the newspaper thing. The two of them were very nice.”

 

“Bits, you can’t refer to the number one draft pick and love of my life as nice. He’s Jack fucking Zimmermann.” Ransom nods along as Holster gesticulates with his fork. “Calder winner, he won a fucking Arty in his second season. He’s Jack Zimmermann.”

 

“And,” Ransom chimes in, “his parents. Sure, Bob with his four, _four_ Stanley Cups is impressive but his mom, Bitty.” They both sigh. “Ms Alicia Lane, pundit turned political media powerhouse and cocktail enthusiast. Apart from being hella smart, she hosts a podcast about bourbon.”

 

Eric shrugs. “I mean, her, I’ve heard of but I didn’t know Jack was her son.”

 

Ransom and Holster look at him like they’ve been betrayed. “We were so close to appearing on ‘The Mash Tub’ and you let us down, Bits. It’s like we don’t even know you anymore.”

 

-

 

When Eric first moved to Providence, he tried to steer clear of his neighbours, Justin and Adam. They reminded him too much of the boys who’d made his life in high school hell - snapbacks, overuse of the word ‘bro’, the whole works. Eric wasn’t rude, of course - his mama would have driven the sixteen hours to look at him disapprovingly if he had been - but he tried to keep out of their way. It wasn’t too hard, with what seemed like the incomprehensible and irregular shifts they worked as paramedics. Eric found that either he could hear them yelling at each other whilst playing video games at two in the morning or he didn’t hear anything for days on end.

 

The change from casual nods in the hallway to being so firmly enmeshed in each other’s lives came two months after Eric had arrived. Some asshole had roughed him up and stolen his wallet on top of a particularly shitty day making the same fucking dough for six hours, followed by a five hour shift at the coffee shop. Eric had almost made it home when he literally bumped into Justin and Adam in the hallway and had promptly lost his shit and tried to fight them. To this day, Eric isn’t sure if he was trying to punch one or both of them and is unceasingly thankful that instead following his lead, they took him to their apartment (where it became clear to Eric that they, in fact, weren’t just roommates), cleaned up his cuts and scrapes and then got him incredibly drunk. Ransom and Holster were the thing that kept him in Providence, their friendship was reason enough to tough out that first year of college, that shitty job and the ongoing homesickness.

 

Sure, Eric could do without their terrible matchmaking but he also hates to ruin their fun.

 

-

 

It’s mid-August and Jack finds himself in Georgia’s office again. She’s ignoring him while she flicks through the a non-descript file. Jack is about to get his phone out for something to do.

 

“An apron and oven mitts, Jack? Really?” She looks up at him, resigned. “I literally could have sent any hipster with a DSLR over there to take these shots.”

 

Jack tries to limit his reaction but he knows he hasn’t been successful when Georgia’s face softens.

 

“They aren’t bad shots, Jack. They’re sweet. They just aren’t what Tana and the rest of management are looking for. They list of words that got emailed to me were, ugh, ‘dangerous’, ‘sexy’, ‘unique’ and ‘interesting’. Jesus, that is literally the worst list ever.”

 

Jack gives a small smile. “I’ll do better.”

 


	2. this is not rising tension

 

Jack is determined to prove that there is no contest between him - he’s won prizes for his work! - and dime a dozen hipsters who think knowing which filter to put on their brunch photos makes them a photographer. He has got this. 

 

Jack is making sure his kit is complete when Shitty lets himself into Jack’s apartment and begins looking through Jack’s fridge. 

 

“Oh, hi, Shitty. I’m great, thanks for asking. No, I wasn’t saving those leftovers for lunch - you go ahead,” Jack deadpans at Shitty’s back. 

 

Shits just waves a hand at him while he opens up one of the containers with the other. Jack feels himself jump when a voice behind him answers. 

 

“Aw, Jack. He can’t help it - I’m a growing bro and I powered through the pitiful range of snacks at his place.”

 

Jack turns to see Lardo, all sleek lines and cheeky smile. He grins at her and scoops her up into a hug. 

 

“Lards! I thought we wouldn't see you until the end of the year!”

 

“And leave you to without my excellent guidance and frankly killer style? I can barely let him leave the house.”   
  
Jack looks over to Shits who is wearing jean shorts and a tank which seems to be advertising the 1992 World’s Fair. And no shoes. Jack squints at Shitty’s bare feet. 

 

“Didn’t you guys walk?”

 

Lardo rolls her eyes. “Apparently shoes would ‘inhibit his creative talent because he needs to feel, ya know, his place in the scheme of things’ and this can only happen through his feet. Apparently.”

 

Shitty gives them the finger while he searches through Jack’s cupboards for some crackers to go with the dip he’s found. “You two are totally just jealous of my genius, even though ‘genius’ itself is a problematic and somewhat misogynistic concept and I don’t really like applying it to myself and,” he pauses, having run out of steam. “Look, Lardo! Dip!”

 

Jack gives them both another hug and keeps packing up his kit. Shitty looks over at him puzzled. 

 

“What’s the job today? We don’t have any profiles booked in.” He gasps. “Did Chrys finally convince you to do that bird shoot?”

 

“I’m not going on a roadtrip to take photographs of prizewinning chickens, Shits. Get over it.” Jack looks up from his camera bag. “I have to go and shoot Bittle again. George didn’t love the shots.”

 

Shitty’s face lights up. “Oh my god, Lards. We have to go with him. You will love this guy.” Shitty’s hands are a blur as he tries to convince Lardo. “He wears bow ties and bakes and Jack spends most of the time awkwardly blushing at him.”   
  


“I do not, you dick.” 

 

“Oh, this is the guy you want to bone!” she exclaims and turns to stare at Jack intensely. “Yeah, I’m going to need to approve that shit.”

 

-

 

Jack spends most of the drive trying to convince the two of them that they can’t just turn up without being invited and trying to ignore the queasy feeling in his stomach. Jack isn’t completely in denial; he knows that he’s attracted to Bittle and that it has been way too long since he did anything - a hook up, a relationship, a date, anything - that his professionalism is dangling by a thread. But fuck Shitty, he covers his awkwardness well. He’s had enough practice.

 

-

 

Jack isn’t surprised when Bitty and Lardo have some sort of small person mind meld and become inseparable while they chirp Shitty as Jack tries to compose some more interesting pictures. Bitty sets out a plate of sticky looking rolls on the bench for all of them and Jack swears he sees the the plate spinning on its edge as Shitty and Lardo grab them and run over to the couch. Bitty laughs, surprisingly deep and low. 

 

“Those are honeyed peanut caramel buns! I’ve been testing them for my site. I think I actually need to add a bit more salt to even it out. Or,” his face lights up, “just use salted peanuts, Bittle. God, what an idiot.” 

 

He searches around for something. 

 

“Jack, have you seen a blue notebook? About so big?”

 

Jack knows that he is, at this moment, not doing a good job of hiding his awkwardness - staring at Bitty’s hands, the tendon in his neck, the way his tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth as he searches. 

 

“Huh?”

 

Bitty glances up at him from where’s he looking through a bag. “Blue notebook? It’s where I do my planning.”

 

Jack starts to look around and sees the corner of a blue notebook poking out from under Lardo’s backpack.

 

“This it?” Jack holds it out for Bitty. 

 

Bitty walks over to him grabs it out of his hand. Jack almost drops the notebook as he hands it over.

 

“Why, thank you, Mr Zimmermann. What would I do without you?” he jokes as he begins adding to his notes.

 

Jack turns away as he feels the blush rising to his cheeks. His phone dings with a message. 

 

**yeah sooooo smooth, jacques.**

 

He whips his head around to look at the couch where both Shits and Lardo are slowly shaking their heads at him. 

 

-

 

Jack has just decided to throw every stupid idea he can think of at this shoot to try and make it stick.

 

“Would you mind if I put some flour on your,” he gestures at Bitty’s head, “ . . . general . . . face . . area?” and Jack ignores the stifled laughter he can hear from the next room. 

 

Bitty’s face lights up. “If you think I’m going to mind a little bit of flour, Jack, it’s clear that you haven’t ever baked and iced 250 coffee cup biscuits in an emergency. Do you worst, Mr Zimmerman,” he exclaims and Jack doesn’t think he’s imagining it when Bitty’s cheeks colour slightly.

 

Jack frames the shot close in on Bitty’s face and mutters a range of different emotions for Bitty to work through. When he checks back, they look . . . fine. Not great though. 

 

“How do you feel about water? And, can we lose the . . .?” Jack brushes the bow tie at Bitty’s throat. “I mean, it’s . . .  nice and all but, just not what I’m trying for.”

 

Bitty swiftly unknots the tie and begins to unthread it from his collar. 

 

Jack grabs his hand. 

 

“Actually, can we leave it like that?”

 

-

 

Eric thinks that Shitty takes a little too much pleasure in pouring a jug of water over his head and then ruffling his hair. In a way, Eric is glad to have something to distract him for Jack’s biceps and, well, strange but sweet manner. 

 

Eric allows himself to be positioned in front of a window, a door, his oven, all while feeling distinctly soggy. It’s clear though that nothing is coming up the way Jack wants though. He grabs the mid-century vanity chair that Shitty carried into his apartment earlier and Eric is a bit alarmed that he can’t hear what Jack and Shitty are whispering about behind him. Jack stride back around and sets up the shot. 

 

He calls quietly. “Lards, can you grab that reflector and just, yeah, great.”

 

He looks Eric in the eye for a split second and it takes all of Eric’s self-control to not swoon like the worst kind of cliche. Then the moment is over, Jack’s nodding his head and Eric feels his face contort as another jug of water is poured over his head unexpectedly. As he blinks and splutters, he can hear the shutter going off madly. He wipes the last of the water out of his eyes, Jack lowers the camera and they stare at each other. 

 

“You absolute fucker.”

 

Jack raises his camera and takes another shot.

 

-

 

Jack sits down on Bitty’s couch, waiting for him to finish drying himself off. Lardo has her backpack open in front of her and is finishing off an elaborate design on Shitty’s cheek, all thick lines and curlicues. 

 

“What are you using?”

 

“Hmm?” Lardo glances up at him. “Oh, just some different coloured liners. I think I’m going to do some detail work with lipstick.” 

 

Jack thinks for a moment. 

 

“Do you think you could . . . ?”

 

-

 

Eric feels more ridiculous by the minute as he is cajoled into letting Lardo decorate him. He’s not a stranger to make up - four years of the school musical, thank you very much - but this does seem to be an absolute Hail Mary attempt on Jack’s part to get something interesting. 

 

He refuses to look at the finished product because he knows that he won’t be able to keep focussed once he’s seen how ludicrous it is. He simply allows himself to be maneuvered into the armchair by the window and listens to the soft instructions Jack is murmuring. 

 

“Just a little more, yeah, great.” 

 

Jack glances up from the camera’s display and Eric is certain now that he’s not reading something that isn’t there. He raises an eyebrow at Jack and puts on his tried and tested “Not As Sweet As He Seems” smirk. Jack’s eyes widen and he quickly starts fiddling with the camera again.

 

-

 

After four and a half hours, they are finally done. Lardo and Shitty slipped off at some point to go to some bookshop Lards was desperate to get to but not before they arrange to go out to take Bitty out for drinks to thank him for allowing them to invade his home. 

 

Jack is informed that his attendance is mandatory under their signed and notarized Friendship Contract.

 

-

 

They end up at a bowling alley, Jack trying to corral the other three who are worse for wear after two different bars’ happy hours. Jack is about as buzzed as he allows himself to get these days which is three slow beers and plenty of water. 

 

Bitty takes them all by surprise by bowling at 230 game, even though he seemed to have trouble staying upright in between frames. 

 

Bitty looks up at the final scores and squints at Jack’s 130. “Huh. Shouldn’t you be good at this?”

 

“Oh my god, Bits. You’re so mean when you’re drunk.”    
  


Jack whips his head around at the unknown voice and then back at Bitty as he launches himself at the two newcomers. 

 

“Boys! You made it!” The bigger guy - blond, glasses - reaches out and grabs Bitty’s arm, stopping him from tripping. The other guy - snapback, salmon shorts -  openly laughs at Bitty while putting his hand on his back to steady him.

 

“Bits, you’re so messy. It’s actually kind of impressive.” Glasses snuggles into Bitty and then threads one arm around the other guy. Snapback ruffles Bitty’s hair. 

 

Jack is pretty certain that an actual light bulb went on over his head. He tries to stop his face from giving himself away. 

 

Snapback comes over and shakes everyone’s hand. “I’m Justin and that’s Adam. I hope it’s ok that Bits texted us; he gets a bit codependent after a few drinks.”

 

“Not to mention handsy! Down, Bitty! Behave!” Adam is laughing and waggling his eyebrows while taking swipes at Bitty’s hands. 

 

Jack knows that his grin must be verging on a grimace at this point but, of course, he read the situation with Bitty wrong. Of fucking course. 

 

It is only made worse by the fact that Justin and Adam - “Nah, bro. Ransom and Holster! Rad, right?” - are genuinely lovely and clearly care about Bitty. 

  
Jack lasts another game and then makes his excuses and leaves. He can feel Shitty’s concern as he leaves but he has a shoot tomorrow anyway, he can’t drink anymore tonight and he’s not enough of a dick to try and muscle in on Bitty and his boyfriends. 


	3. this is not a revelation

Eric tries his hardest to not fall into the trap of denial - there’s a reason why he limits his time in his hometown and why he hasn’t spoken to Aunt Millie since his accidental Christmas Coming Out Spectacular of 2012; he refuses to take part in a false version of himself anymore - and he is certain that he didn’t misread things with Jack but . . .

 

Eric remembers drinks and laughing and absolutely wiping the floor with all three of them when they went bowling and Ransom and Holster and, just, a nice night out. All of it is slightly blurry around the edges and his partner for the Entremets and Petits Gateaux class the next day didn’t thank him when Eric could barely pull his weight but . . .

 

But it had been fun and he had been so certain that he might at least get a quiet, ongoing text flirtation out of the whole thing. It seems, however, that one Jack Zimmermann has other ideas. Jack responds to Eric’s text with polite but generic answers. He occasionally initiates contact but in the most bland fashion. Eric is fairly certain that this is a case of Hapless Straight Boy.

 

Again.

 

His life. Honestly.

 

-

 

Eric prides himself on being punctual to social events because it is “just good manners, Holster, you monster” so Eric tries not to assign his life with some display of dramatic irony that he is running late the day that _The Gazette_ is finally out.

 

Rans and Holster are sitting at their usual table when Eric finally arrives and they are both staring at Ransom’s lap in a way that verges on inappropriate for a public setting.

 

Eric flops down in the chair, helps himself to Holster’s coffee and raises his eyebrows at them.

 

“Well, that certainly is a look for you, Mr Bittle,” Ransom exclaims and begins dramatically fanning himself with his napkin.

 

Holster just stares at Eric, while slowly shaking his head. “I just didn’t think I’d have to watch you grow up right before my eyes, son.”

 

Eric sighs. “Hand it over then,” he groans at them, gesturing to, ugh, Ransom’s crotch.

 

Holster hands over a slightly dog-eared copy of _The Gazette Magazine_.

 

“If you just groped your boyfriend as you handed me a magazine with my photo in it, I think I may have to disown you,” Eric says as he takes the magazine between two fingers.

 

“C’mon, Bits - you’ve e-”

 

“Hush now.”

 

Eric places the magazine down in front of himself and smooths it with his hands without really paying too much attention. That’s probably why it takes him a moment to realise that it is his face on the cover looking back out at him. That and the fact that’s he knows that he’s never looked more alien or attractive.

 

Eric knows what his appeal is: he’s sweet, he’s cute, he’s adorable. He has to search his memory to find a single instance of anyone - friends, boyfriends, hook ups - referring to him as, well, sexy. This version of him that stares out from the cover is just that.

 

It’s a profile and his chin is slightly raised but, somehow, the eye contact out the side of his eye captivates. Topping it all off is Lardo’s elaborate swirls and patterns over his cheeks and down his neck. There’s a glimpse of his curls and, lord, Eric didn’t even know that he knew how to pout.

 

“Gosh.”

 

Ransom laughs at him. “Yeah, gosh.” He takes a long drink from his frappe. “We always knew you were a dreamboat, bro.”

 

Eric scrunches up his face. “It feels weird to want to make out with yourself.”

 

“Dude, you’re a hottie. Accept it.”

 

Eric flicks through the magazine as Rans and Holster debate the pros and cons for being able to make out with yourself. He finds the section of profiles and the photos are, well, nice. Striking. Jack clearly knows what he’s doing and all of the photos are a just a bit different, not the sort of thing he’s seen in these pieces before. There’s a middle-aged woman cackling as she sails down a slide in a playground, a man sitting in his house surrounded by piles of mail, someone’s hands with chipped nail polish as they solder things together. Eric’s still feeling puzzled over the person completely covered by leaves, just their face poking out, when he stops abruptly.

 

“Yep, he’s found it.”

 

Eric glances up at Ransom and Holster who just stare back at him with knowing little smiles.

 

It’s a series: four mid-shots of Eric, bowtie undone around his neck, no clear background. He looks curious in the first shot, slight smile on his lips. Second shot, water is pouring over his face, his eyes are closed and his mouth is open in shock. Third, he’s been caught shaking his head, droplet of water frozen as they fly away from his face. Finally, his hand in his hair as he stares out from the page, angry but there’s something else there. Eric hasn’t had that many opportunities to see what he looks like in the midst of sex but he’s pretty sure he has a fairly good idea now. The version of him frozen on the page wants to fuck and be fucked and just mess someone up a lot.

 

-

 

Eric finishes off his third mimosa.

 

“But - “

 

Ransom and Holster both groan.

 

“Oh my fucking god, Bitty. I love you but you have been at this for the last forty-five minutes. You didn’t know you could look hot, you didn’t know that your face did that thing, you can’t figure out if there’s some deeper meaning, you don’t understand that photo with all the leaves,” Holster blurts out.

 

“Jack is so talented, Shitty is such a great writer, I sound all clever and self-assured but back to Jack,” Ransom continues. “Eat your eggs, Bits.”

 

Eric glares at them.  “You are both the actual worst.” He eats a few mouthful of eggs but it’s like he can’t help himself. “Don’t you think there’s something a bit . . . different between these photos of me and the other photos in the series?”

 

Ransom chuckles. “Ah, you mean, how Jack has managed to declare his desire to have sex with you through the medium of photography?”

 

Eric looks up from his eggs. “But Jack’s straight.”

 

Eric watches a range of emotions on their faces - surprise, confusion, comprehension. Adam throws down far too much money on the table and grabs Eric by the hand as Ransom gathers up all their belongings.

 

“Come with us, Bitle. We are going to rock your world.”

 

-

 

Jack’s senior degree project at RISD was about bodies and movement and masculinities. He and Lardo spent a lot of time swapping readings and refining ideas. He had fallen into that area of theory by fluke - sometime in sophomore year, Lardo had scrolled through his archive, photo after photo of his friends and ex-teammates playing and training, looked at him and simply said “bro.”

Where Lardo’s sculptures were a dreamy, abstract expression of bodies, Jack’s photos were often stark, hyperrealistic. For his senior project, he wanted to take all those shots from the previous three years and push himself even further.

That was when Parse got involved.

 

-

 

Eric allows himself to be shepherded onto Ransom and Holster’s couch and a laptop is thrust at him.

 

“Eric Bittle, let us welcome you to a new world,” Holster pontificates, “a world where a professional sportsperson would allow another professional sportsperson, well, an up until recently professional sportsperson, take highly homoerotic photographs of them. Photographs which _strongly_ imply that these two people were in a sexual relationship.”

 

Eric looks up from a photograph of Kent Parson’s chest, covered in - oh, goodness! - hickeys to see that Ransom is holding his hand over his heart, as if needing to solemnly mark the occasion.

 

“I shit you not, Bits. I’m pretty sure these photos made me gay.”  Holster gently cuffs Rans over the back of the head. “Yeah, and your sweet nature, Adam, whatever.”

 

The photos are clearly intimate - Parson doesn’t appear to be wearing clothes in any of them, just artfully arranged bedsheets or shadows - and there are glimpses of Jack throughout. A reflection, a hand on a thigh, a possessive arm over Parson’s chest.

 

Eric can feel himself blushing as he hands the laptop back as Ransom flops down next to him. “As you can imagine, the media had a field day when someone realised that Jack Zimmermann’s senior photography project consisted of photos of him and Kent Parson in bed.” He brings up an interview on YouTube and they watch as Kent laughs and crows “well, shit, I thought the pictures were gay enough to speak for themselves but, for those having trouble: I am gay,” before driving off.

  
“And, so, young Bittle, even if Jack isn’t _out_ -out, I would thank you to stop invalidating his clearly queer life experience. Also, get your flirt on, I want on that podcast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, writing about photos is hard. Writing from Bitty's POV is hard. Why won't they just let me live etc etc?


	4. this is not (another) revelation

Bitty is, well, challenging. Not in a bad way but Jack feels the barrier of self-control he’s put up regarding Bittle are under a constant barrage of attack. It’s only the thought of the soft and easy way that Bitty and Holster and Ransom are with each other that helps him stay focussed keeping his distance. 

 

He spends winter working - corporate work that requires limited effort, a couple of print commissions, even some catalogue work - and tries to limit the spark of hope that he feels in his stomach every time his phone chimes with a new message from Bitty. 

 

-

 

**jack jacques jack i am back in town and its time to light this fucker up**

 

**You know, for a journalist, you have an impressive disregard for the conventions of the English language.**

 

-

 

When Jack arrives at Shitty’s place, it is already crowded and noisy. He spots Shitty holding court in the kitchen, hands flying through the air as he earnestly explains something to the group around him. Jack greets some acquaintances on his way over to see Shitty - George is heading off to some other party and can’t stay and Wicks pulls him into a conversation about a local government race that Jack is in no way qualified to comment on - and then everything in Jack’s world goes a bit sideways. He finds himself on the floor, Shitty sitting on top of him and kissing him all over his face. 

 

Jack exhales with the most put upon sigh he can muster. “Get that thing away from me, Shits. I don’t know where it’s been.” This only seems to encourage Shitty in rubbing his moustache all over Jack. 

 

“My lustrous facial hair? Where hasn’t it been more like?” He sits up and twirls the end like a pantomime villain. “It appears that neither the ladies nor the gentlemen can say no to my display of virility.” Shitty settles himself more comfortably to out and out snuggle Jack on the kitchen floor. 

 

“It displays something, that’s for sure.” Jack used to feel embarrassed about the way Shitty was so open with his affection but, now, he revels in it. He buries his head in Shitty’s hair and mumbles “I really missed you.”   
  


-

 

Jack is slumped down on one end of Shitty’s unbelievably comfortable couch, chatting with some screenwriter, when he seems a glimpse of blond hair arriving and a familiar cadence to the greeting being called. Jack has to stop himself from sitting up a little straighter, checking his hair - he is not going to be that guy. He tries to pick up the thread of the conversation again but he can feel himself tracking Bitty’s progress - greeting Shitty, stopping in the kitchen for a drink, depositing a Tupperware container of something on the table. Jack turns back to the conversation to see that the screenwriter as moved on to someone who is more interested in his story and Jack can’t say he’s sorry about it. Jack stands and makes his excuses and heads towards the kitchen. 

 

Bitty is propped up against the wall, his arm around Lardo, their heads together as she tells him something that involves a lot of gesturing. Jack turns back to get himself a drink, something, anything to explain his immediate appearance where Bitty is and is thankful that his build make him hard to miss in Shitty’s poky kitchen. 

 

“Jack!” Lardo calls. “Look who it is!” She smirks at him knowingly as she gestures to Bitty like she’s presenting him with a prize. “Oh, I have to go and tell Shits that you made cookies.” She rushes off and Jack is torn between rolling his eyes and thanking her. 

 

Bitty tilts his head up and smiles at Jack. “So, Mr Zimmermann, what have you been up to?”

 

-

 

Much to Jack’s surprise, the conversation flows smoothly - Bitty tells him all about the cross promotional stuff he’s been doing to increase views on his vlog and his patissiere classes and his neighbour’s dog that he’s been looking after. 

 

“I mean, I know that I shouldn’t want to put Pancake in a duffle coat but, at the same time, it’s a dog in a duffle coat so, you know.” He shrugs. 

 

Jack chuckles. “Where did you source a beagle-sized duffle coat, anyway?”

 

Bitty flushes slightly. “I know you think I’m ridiculous. Also, the internet obviously.” 

 

Jack laughs again. “Not ridiculous. I just . . . I would never have occurred to me to look for outfits for my neighbour’s dog. I guess I’m just not . . . I don’t know, interesting?” 

 

Jack feels embarrassed to have let something so honest slip out when he wasn’t expecting it. He glances over and Bitty is looking up at him, incredulous. 

 

“Jack Zimmermann, you are one of the most interesting people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” Bitty’s tone is honest and forceful and Jack isn’t sure if it’s the certainty of Bitty’s words or his hand on Jack’s bicep that is making Jack feel warm all over. 

 

-

 

Eric stifles a yawn and stretches out a bit, feeling his shoulders loosen up. Shitty looks over at him expectantly from where he and Lardo are stretched out on the floor. He can feel Jack’s eyes on him from the other end of the couch.

“I should probably head home - I’ve got a class tomorrow.” 

 

Despite his words, he doesn’t want to go - he’s warm and surrounded by sweet and funny people and he is more than a little bit buzzed. He can’t help but be a bit pleased that the night has ended up this way, just the four of them, all neatly paired off. Something about it feels right to him which is ridiculous given that Jack himself who seems to be immune to the full force of Eric’s excellent (if he does say so himself) flirting game. Eric has spent most of the evening sending out the signals but Jack doesn’t seem to be picking them up. 

 

Well, that’s not entirely true. Jack seems to be well aware of this pulse of attraction between them and Eric is sure that he’s seen glimpses of Jack allowing himself to lean a bit closer, touch Eric’s arm and leave it there, speak more honestly than Eric sees him speak to anyone else but then something will change. It is almost as if Jack remembers something and all the barriers that Eric has been working hard to bring down go flying back up again. 

 

Eric collects his things, hugs all three of them and tries not to be too frustrated at the thought of how the night might have ended if Jack had only let it.

 

-

 

Jack is still staring at the door that just closed behind Bitty when he is suddenly punched in the chest. 

 

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Zimmermann?! God, you are the worst.” Lardo is surprisingly intimidating for someone a whole foot shorter than him. She is glaring at him and shaking her head. “That poor boy worked his ass off all night and you just let him leave?” She stalks off to the kitchen and Jack can hear her violently throwing empties into a garbage bag.

 

Jack turns to Shitty, hoping for some solidarity but he looks just as disappointed as Lardo. “That’s pretty cold, bro.” He follows Lardo into the kitchen with a bunch of dirty glasses. 

 

Jack can feel tension building behind his left eye and starting to throb slightly. He tries to rub some of the tension out with the heel of his palm. “But I’m doing the right thing,” he calls out to them. “He’s already in a relationship so I’m not going to put myself in the way of that.”

 

The silence in the kitchen is almost too quiet - he imagines that they’ve both stopped mid-task and are staring at each other. Lardo yells back at him. “What are you talking about?”

 

Jack sighs. “Bittle is already in a relationship,” he says, “with Ransom and Holster.”

 

He finds himself trapped underneath the full weight of both Shitty and Lardo, with Shitty ruffling his hair. “Oh, my sweet ridiculous Canadian prince,” Shitty coos at him, “sometimes I wonder if you should be forbidden from conducting any human interactions on your own.”

 

Jack sits up and they both tumble down onto the couch.  Shitty sits up, leans forward and grabs Jack’s face in both his hands. 

 

“Jack, do you know why Adam and Justin weren’t here tonight? Because Rans has taken Adam on some some of romantic getaway to, like, Costa Rica, I think. It was somewhere where Rans assured me that tiny swimwear was going to be required. Personally, I think no swimwear is a better option but, you know, some people just aren’t -” 

 

Jack stifles the rest of Shitty’s thoughts about skinny dipping with his hand. He looks at Lardo who just stares back at him with another of those knowing looks on her face. 

 

“Oh.” He shuts his eyes and tries to reconcile this new information with everything he’s learnt about Bittle and ‘his boys’. “That doesn’t mean they aren’t in a relationship. It could just be, like a turn-based vacation economy and it isn’t Bitty’s turn?”

 

Lardo puts her arm around Jack’s shoulder and cuddles him aggressively. “You’re right, they could be involved in a very visually appealing poly relationship except,” she pauses dramatically, “Bits and I talked at length about how single he is at the moment. So single, Jack. Single and lonely and the word’s ‘starved of affection’ were used multiple times. So, you know, no pressure if you don’t want to but he’s not as impossible as you seem to think.”

 

Jack flops back into the corner of the couch again. 

 

“Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look - I don't know if it's the fact that I've been sick for three days or what have you but this ended up in a very different place than I planned. 
> 
> I also feel like the turn of phrase is much more Australian than usual so please let me know if it makes no sense. 
> 
> In theory, one more part to go but it might end up being two. We're almost there, peeps.


	5. this is not an awkward declaration of intentions

Jack isn’t actively trying to hide behind a display of cookware but it isn’t like he’s not trying to hide either. He’s pretty sure he’s lost the overbearing woman who kept trying to make him buy something called a spiralizer but he can’t be certain. He’s peering past the stockpots when he hears an awkward cough behind him.

 

“Can I help you, sir?” The woman is looking at him as if she’s concerned he has some sort of head injury.

 

Jack squeezes his eyes shut. “Is there any chance that I didn’t look like a complete idiot?” He opens one eye and squints at the woman. “I mean, I was hoping for just a shred of dignity to take home with me.”

 

The sales associate bites back a smile. “Look, I’m not going to judge. Lauren is getting pretty intense about the spiralizers. If I didn’t know her, I’d probably be hiding behind the displays as well.” Her face opens up in a sunny smile. “What can I help you find today, sir? Not a spiralizer, obviously.”

 

Jack starts and stops as he tries to explain to his new friend Amalia about wanting something that, well, wasn’t about declaring his intentions exactly, but more about apologising for not quite catching on and putting them both in a vaguely uncomfortable situation.

 

“I know it sounds strange but I just don’t want to turn up to his place empty-handed and, well,” Jack can feel himself losing control of his explanation, “he likes to bake. So, I need a baking . . . thing.” He gestures around the store.

 

Amalia grabs his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

 

-

 

Eric had finally found a moment to sit down with the newest addition to his (already ridiculous) cookbook collection when he’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

 

Literally the last person he is expecting to see is standing stiffly on his stoop.

 

“Jack?”  


After Shitty’s party, Eric had vowed to stop flirting with Jack - continually flirting with someone who isn’t interested is creepy - but he didn’t say anything about ignoring the whole attractive Jack aesthetic. Jack’s face shows that he’s clearly nervous and uncomfortable but, boy, did he know how to keep in shape. And how to dress that shape. And how to just stand attractively. Eric blinks and tries to refocus.

 

Jack shoves a surprisingly hefty package into Eric’s hands. “I, uh, I got you something.”

 

Eric looks down at the brown paper and twine bow and then looks back up at Jack, baffled.

 

“Um, because we’re friends and I saw it and it made me think of you and I wanted you to have it,” Jack stammered.

 

Eric looks at the gift again and then back up at Jack. “Oh, you have to come in.” He steps aside to let Jack in. “My mother would be horrified at me leaving you on the doorstep.”

Eric takes charge, leading them into the kitchen where he more or less manhandles Jack into a chair, pours him a glass of wine, grabs his own drink and perches next to Jack at the kitchen bench.

 

“It’s very sweet of you to bring me something. Completely unnecessary, of course, but I do love gifts.” He cuts off the twine and unwraps the gift. “Oh, my.”

 

It’s a rolling pin. Marble. And it’s only because Eric spends more time in the cookware stores in town than he’s actually comfortable admitting to anyone that he is aware that this is not a cheap rolling pin. This is a _good_ rolling pin. A really good rolling pin. ‘ _Do not read into this, Eric Bittle_ ,’ he tells himself, ‘ _this is not A Gesture.’_ Eric realises that Jack is saying something and manages to tune back in.

 

“ . . . I know you have already probably have lots of pins but I thought that marble would be good for summer so that it says cold because that’s a thing? About pastry, I think?”

 

Eric looks up at Jack, one hand on the cold marble and one pressed into his own chest. “Oh, bless you, Jack. Yes, it’s ‘a thing’.”

 

-

 

“So?!” Jack has barely set foot into the store before Amalia is at his side. “Did he like it? What did he say?!”

 

Jack nods quickly. “It was good - he seemed to like it.” Jack has to bite down on the urge to tell her about staying and finishing the bottle of wine, sitting together on Bitty’s couch and talking well into the evening; Amalia is very kind but she’s essentially a stranger. “Yeah, it was good. Thank you again.”

 

She beams at him. “So, shall I show you our range of wooden spoons?” She tugs at his arm. “I’d recommend the walnut.”

 

-

 

Eric arranges all of the gifts on his bench. Marble rolling pin, walnut spoon set, herb mill, french rolling pin, beautiful cotton napkins and, the latest, a paring knife.

 

It’s the knife that made Eric reflect upon all these little things that have been ending up in his kitchen over the last few months. It’s his dream paring knife - he’s been eyeing it off for months but the price tag made it an extravagance. And here it was, courtesy of Jack Zimmermann.

 

“Huh.”

 

He picks up his phone and texts Lardo.

 

**Is Jack trying to date me?**

 

He busies himself by folding the napkins into swans while he waits for a reply.

 

**Um, probably. He’s pretty rubbish at, well, life.**

 

Eric drums his fingers on the countertop, thinking.

 

**that boy. he wasn’t interested when I turned the full force of my flirt eyes at him and now that i’ve resigned myself to just admiring dat ass from afar, he’s buying me knives**

 

Lardo’s response is very quick this time.

 

**??? actual knives?**

 

Eric takes a photo of all the gifts laid out on the bench and sends it to her.

 

**I’ll talk to him. (nice swans, btw)**

 

-

 

“C’mon, bro - I want ice-cream.” Lardo throws Jack’s coat at him and claps her hands. “Let’s move!”

 

Jack has learnt not to question Lardo’s fits of passion, particularly with regards to food, so he puts his coat on, grabs his wallet and phone and follows her outside. They head off in the direction of their regular ice-cream joint in a companionable silence. She’s only in town for a few days and Jack is so content to have her staying with him - it reminds him of RSID and how Lardo helped to drag him back out into the world.

 

“So, hey, remember in sophomore year when I was dating Cleo? The dancer?” Lardo looks at him expectantly.

 

Jack has a vague memory of brown curls and a strong handshake. “Yes?”

 

Lardo fiddles with her phone as she continues. “D’you I didn’t realise for ages that she wanted to date? I mean, I thought she was great and she kept inviting me to her dancing stuff but I had all these assumptions about the sort of person she’d date and, anyway, it took me, like two or three months and her to pretty much put up a sign in my room telling me that she wanted to date.”

 

Jack stops suddenly. “Lards, are you trying to tell me that you want to date me?” he jokes.

 

She grabs his hands. “That is exactly what I’m trying to tell you.” She throws herself at him, throws her arms around his shoulders and gives him a loud demonstrative smooch on his cheek. They’re both still laughing as he puts her back down on her feet.

 

“God, can you imagine? We’d be a disaster,” Lardo says.

 

“I think my grandparents would be very happy; despite ongoing explanations, they still haven’t figured out that I can indeed have a family despite being queer,” Jack laughs.

 

They walk on in silence for a few minutes.

 

“So, Bits and the presents?”

 

“Oh.”  


“There’s some similarities between the stories.”

 

Jack blushes. “I’m the Cleo of this situation, right?”

 

Lardo nods. “Yep.”

 

“And you’re saying that I need to actually say something instead of just hoping for the best?”  


“Indeed.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

“Yep. But you’re not that repressed, Incredibly socially awkward man I first met.” She pats his arm. “Now, you’re just socially awkward. Anyway, I’ve done my duty and now I demand mint choc chip.”

  
Jack ruffles her hair and buys her a triple scoop. “Thanks, Lards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more part? Maybe two? Either way the end is nigh.


	6. this is not a denouement

And then, nothing.

 

Well, not _nothing,_ Jack will concede. Far from nothing.

 

They’re friends.

 

Bitty finds him one evening and gently asks him to stop with all the gifts and Jack can’t say no to his determined face so the kitchenware stops.

 

They’re drinking at their favourite bar one night when Jack confesses his Ransom and Holster and Bitty misunderstanding which leads to a slightly embarrassing conversation where Jack learns that whilst that had been the case for a while, it certainly wasn’t any more. This in turn leads Jack to blushing every time the four of them hang out for the next two months. He’s an artist; he has a vivid imagination.

 

They meet up for dinner occasionally, just the two of them, but they aren’t dating.

 

Jack brings it up once and Bitty just looks at him, puzzled and explains “you kept pushing me away and then you couldn’t ask. It doesn’t fill me with a huge amount of confidence, Jack.”

 

It stings to hear it but, deep down, he knows it’s true: he’s never shown any sign that he’s capable of an actual adult relationship.

 

Bitty smiles at him, wistful. “I think we might have got our timing wrong, Mr Zimmermann.”

 

Jack swallows the sour taste in his mouth and nods. “Friends, then?”

 

Bitty breathes out a small, sad chuckle. “Well, of course. We’re there already.”

 

They’re friends.

 

-

 

Jack is half asleep as he tries to fit his key into the lock on his front door. “Just open, you motherfucker,” he mutters as he kicks at the door. It’s 3am, it’s humid and he can feel sweat sliding down his back and he’s been traveling for nineteen hours. “I’ll turn you into firewood, asshole,” he grumbles as he kicks the door again and finally manages to successfully gain entry to his home. It’s been two months of jobs everywhere but Providence. Jack likes visiting new places and he loves his job but the final leg of the journey, Dubai to home with layovers, was just awful.

 

He doesn’t even bother turning on the lights, just dumps his bags by the door and heads straight to the kitchen for some water before going to bed. He’s finishing off the second glass of water when he notices a container on his kitchen table. He opens it and it is full of thick, chewy oatmeal raisin cookies. He feels a little spark of hope start burning in his chest. And, now that he looks for it, there’s a loaf of bread on his counter, milk in his fridge, a fruit bowl he’s never seen before is filled to the brim.

 

He’s too tired to think too deeply about what this means now so strips out of his stale and uncomfortable clothes on his way to the bedroom. His bedroom window has been opened so the room doesn’t seem as stuffy as it usually does when he gets back from travel. He definitely didn’t make up his bed that neatly before he left.

 

He allows himself a moment to grin before climbing into bed and falling into a deep sleep.

 

-

 

Eric’s finished class and is walking with Leo to the bus stop when hears someone calling his name.

 

He turns and sees Jack jogging up to him, hair slicked back and dressed much more formally than Eric can ever remember seeing him. He turns back to Leo. “D’you mind if I . . .?” He gestures to Jack. Leo just laughs at him and keeps walking to the bus.

 

Jack pulls up right next to Eric and pulls him into a hug. “Hi, Bitty,” he mumbles and Eric bites his lip to try and contain his grin. Eric commits to the hug wholeheartedly.

 

“Hi, Jack.”

 

“I’m back.” Jack smiles at him, and Eric can feel giddiness building in his chest.

 

“I can see! And looking very dapper!” Eric decides to throw his last specks of dignity away and looks Jack up and down meaningfully. “Important meeting?”

 

Jack nods. “Very important. There’s someone I need to impress.”

 

They are both grinning at each other and, for a moment, Eric reflects on how ridiculous they must appear to all the people passing them by: two grown men, standing in the middle of the footpath, grinning at each other and saying nothing.

 

Jack cocks his head to the side and his expression turns very serious. “Bitty . . . Eric, I need a recommendation, please. For this meeting.” Eric feels a burst of panic that maybe he’s misunderstood what’s happening here. “If you had to choose the perfect location in this city for someone to,” he hesitates, takes a deep breath, “declare their feelings - romantic type feelings - to someone who they are worried is no longer interested in them, um, where would you suggest?”

 

Eric looks at this man and thinks - about how they’ve been orbiting each other for the best part of a year and how, inadvertently, their lives have become intertwined to the point of having keys for each other’s homes and knowing each other’s preferred routes around the grocery store and texting each other in the middle of the night to discuss the podcasts that they’ve recommended to each other - and thinks _yes_.

 

Jack is still waiting for his answer so Eric schools his face into the most serious expression he can muster. “Well, Mr Zimmermann, if the timing was right, I don’t think the location is really that important.”

 

-

 

Jack is actually shocked at how calm he feels. He nods again and considers how best to follow on from Eric’s response.

 

“So, is there any particular time that would be best for that kind of statement?”

 

He watches as Eric pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. “Personally, I think mid-afternoon works. Say, anytime between 3:35 and 3:38.”

 

“I see,” Jack says as he glances down to check his watch, “so, anytime now, really?”

 

Eric is biting back a smile and Jack can feel his own face breaking into a grin again. He looks back at his watch, holds it up for Eric to see the time again.

 

“Eric Bittle, I spent most of my income on baking tools, I assumed you were in a relationship with your neighbours, I did my best to ignore your blatant flirting and I had some pretty inappropriate thoughts about you when I was editing images from your shoot. Despite all of this, you still left me cookies.” He grabs Eric’s hand. “Please let me take you out.”

 

Eric raises his eyebrows. “Just so we’re clear, on a date, yes?”

 

Jack gives a small laugh. “Yes, on a date.”

 

Eric’s whole face lights up. He nods. Jack tries to suppress a shiver as Eric runs his one of his hands along the sleeve of his suit jacket. “I like that you dressed up.”

 

Jack thinks _yes_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends. 
> 
> It got both sappier and sadder than I thought when I planned it out but I hope it was enjoyable. 
> 
> Thank you again for all your lovely comments - I have truly appreciated all of them. 
> 
> I'm just like the biggest awkward turtle ever when it comes to writing sex and, so, it didn't happen. I'll work my way up to it (as I'm already planning another trash AU because I am the trash of that thing).
> 
> Also, it's summer holidays here so I'm back on the old tumblr for the moment [here](http://relevanttomyinterests.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> So, this happened. 
> 
> Title from The New Pornographers 'Challengers'.


End file.
